


Silver's Kiss

by stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Blow Jobs, GERALT DOES NOT CUT HIM, Knifeplay, M/M, Mentions of Blood, it's all just sexy posturing, jaskier is a kinky bitch, no bards were hurt in the making of this fic, technically swordplay but that doesn't have the same ring to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/stfustucky
Summary: After Jaskier almost gets himself beheaded getting in the way of Geralt's sword during a fight, Geralt decides to have a serious conversation with the bard about how sharp and dangerous his swords are. It backfires when Geralt --and Jaskier-- discover that apparently, seeing Geralt's strong hands holding a blade so close to Jaskier's soft skin is.... way more arousing than it ought to be. Jaskier is apparently a slut for danger, and Geralt is just a sucker for Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 429





	Silver's Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> _"oh my god you've single-handedly given me a knifeplay kink, hope you're happy"_ -my lovely beta @handwrittenhello
> 
> Don't ask me why a whole knifeplay idea popped into my head one day. I'm not even into knifeplay. idk man, there's just something erotic about the imagery of Geralt's sword point laid against the inside of Jaskier's thigh. *chef kiss*
> 
> I'd like to be clear: at no point does Geralt intentionally cut Jaskier or anything like that. He geta a few very minor nicks, but that's all. This is moreso the threat/presence of the blades that gets Jaskier going, not the use/pain of them. Blowjobs happen with Geralt's silver sword in close proximity to Jaskier's sensitive bits and everyone goes home happy at the end of the day.
> 
> That being said, enjoy! xoxo

“I said,  _ stay out of my fucking way!” _

Geralt has really been trying to get better about not doing this. Jaskier hates it when he yells at him, even more so after that disastrous scene following the dragon hunt, and Geralt hates the way pain always flashes in Jaskier’s eyes when he slips and does it. It’s an effort, and a definite shift in the way Geralt communicates, but it helps if he grits his teeth and tries to  _ say _ things rather than  _ snarl _ them.

Of course, there are some moments, like this one, where there’s nothing to do except yell.

The absolute idiot that Geralt has had the misfortune to fall in love with has gone and nearly gotten himself beheaded. He had leapt into the fight when they were ambushed by bandits to kick an assailant in the groin --which was unnecessary in the first place because there were only ten of them and it was nothing for Geralt to dispatch of them by himself-- at the exact moment that Geralt had swung his heavy steel blade at the same bandit. He saw a flash of lilac and twisted the blade at the last second to avoid slicing Jaskier by accident, barely averting disaster.

Which is why he’s yelling, because he would rather be overrun by enemies than risk hurting Jaskier even on accident, and for fuck’s sake, the bard needs to learn to follow his goddamn  _ instructions. _

Jaskier must realize how close he came to being in two pieces instead of one, because he yelps and darts away at Geralt’s command. Geralt spares him a glance to make sure that he’s tucked safely behind a tree before returning his focus to the four remaining opponents. It’s only about thirty seconds later that he wipes his sword on one of the corpses and sheathes it, stepping out of the ring of dead bodies to stalk towards Jaskier’s hiding place with a glower that could curdle dairy.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he growls, trying very hard to rein in his tone. It doesn’t work very well. 

“I was helping,” Jaskier says weakly, smile sheepish and eyes apologetic. “I figured they were only human, I could pull my weight on this one and lend a hand. Not like it was a vampire or something.”

“It was  _ ten _ humans, with  _ weapons,” _ huffs Geralt, “which can be just as dangerous to anyone who gets in their way as any vampire. Not to mention I almost hacked you to death by mistake.”

“But you didn’t! You would never, my love, my darling witcher, my white wolf,” Jaskier purrs, coming out from behind the tree to press himself up against Geralt’s front very suggestively. He presses a light kiss to Geralt’s cheek. “I’m always safe with you.”

It’s very tempting to be distracted by the warm glow those words ignite in Geralt’s belly, but the witcher plants a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and pushes him back until he’s pressed up against the tree, unwilling to let this go. “Even I am capable of mistakes,” he growls. “My weapons are dangerous. One nick and you could bleed out in minutes.”

“Oh, now you’re just being dramatic,” Jaskier insists with a roll of his eyes.

“Am I?” Geralt takes a step back and draws his blade-- silver, the one not currently still wet with blood. He holds it between them, parallel to the ground, twisting his wrist so that the sunlight in the clearing reflects off of the metal with a dangerous glint. “Look at this, Jaskier. I don’t let my swords get dull. That’s sharper than any beast’s claw. You really think that this, in  _ my _ hands, isn’t a threat to you?”

The words come out wrong, like they so often do for Geralt, and for an instant he thinks he’s frightened Jaskier as the bard’s eyes go wide. He’s already opening his mouth to apologize, to take it back and beg Jaskier to forget it -- _ please, never fear me, I couldn’t stand it if you did-- _ but then he notices that Jaskier’s stunning blue irises are almost entirely swallowed by his dark pupils. His cheeks are flushed too, and his clever little tongue darts out to lick at his lips in a movement Geralt knows all too well.

Then he smells the lust rising from his lover, and sighs.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says tiredly, sword dropping slightly as Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Seriously, Jaskier?”

Jaskier has been with him for long enough to know that his arousal is an open book to Geralt, so he doesn’t attempt to deny it. “What? You look good holding a sword. I mean, you look good all the time, but like that, with the sunlight and the brooding and the foreground of the sword? A fucking picture, truly erotic. Ballad-worthy, certainly--”

“It’s not a foreground for a painting, it’s a  _ weapon!” _ Geralt attempts to convince him again. “There’s a man’s head on the ground ten yards behind me; what makes you think the same couldn’t accidentally happen to you?”

Desperate to make Jaskier take this seriously, Geralt slowly, carefully, takes the sword and lays it against Jaskier’s throat. It’s barely touching him, just faintly kissing his pale skin, but still a little line of blood appears where they meet. It isn’t enough to even well up and drip, but Geralt’s nostrils flare anxiously at the scent.

Jaskier, on the other hand, is definitely  _ not _ treating the conversation with any more respect. He’s looking at Geralt like he’s starving, eyes flickering from Geralt’s eyes to his hand on the sword hilt. The flush on his cheekbones is even more obvious now. “Guess I’ll have to trust you,” he says after a minute, the motion of his throat making the sword cut deep enough to draw a single drop of blood.

“It’s not a joke, Jaskier,” Geralt snaps.

“I’m not fucking laughing, darling,” whines Jaskier.

No, he certainly isn’t. He’s stock still except for the heaving of his chest, held in place by Geralt’s blade. Geralt steps back a bit to look at him, the sword not moving from his throat, and drinks in the sight of him. Jaskier has one hand cupping his cock through his trousers, squeezing it, and Geralt can see from here that it’s already hard. 

Of course his ridiculous bard would be aroused by getting threatened with a sword. Only Jaskier.

“Can’t say I’ve ever gotten this reaction to telling someone I might slit their throat,” Geralt hums, tilting his head consideringly.

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen someone who looks that good threatening my life, either,” quips Jaskier, voice low. “First time for everything.”

_ Fuck it, _ thought Geralt. Far be it from him to look askance at a needy Jaskier.

The tip of Geralt’s sword makes a soft, satisfying scrape against the embroidered silk of Jaskier’s doublet as he slowly drags it down Jaskier’s chest. With every inhale of Jaskier’s breath, the point goes ever so slightly deeper into the fabric, creating little tears here and there. When it reaches the place where Jaskier is gripping himself, Geralt maneuvers it to hook under Jaskier’s wrist and pushes the arm away from Jaskier’s body, leaving him exposed. The line of his cock is clear beneath the light purple fabric.

“You’re obscene,” Geralt informs his lover, looking him in the eyes while he twirls his sword in his grip. It’s a stupid move, all show, one that Vesemir forbade him and the others to do and which they all learned anyways in secret because they thought it made them feel fierce and rougish. Apparently Jaskier agrees, since he follows the movement of the blade with an audible gulp.

“Was gonna say the same to you, my love,” Jaskier murmurs, seeming distracted. “Fuck, you’re pretty like this. You’ve got a sword and I’ve got a fucking wooden club.”

“Yes, I see your... weapon.” Geralt raises his eyebrow and resettles the sword in his palm. He brings the blade up between Jaskier’s legs, very slowly, smirking at the way that the heaving of Jaskier’s chest increases in pace. He stops just above the knee and uses the flat of the blade to tap the inside of each of Jaskier’s thighs. It has exactly the effect he desires, startling Jaskier into spreading his legs a bit, until he can bring the sword up to the apex of Jaskier’s thighs.

Jaskier gasps as the flat of the blade presses against his most delicate of places, the metal no doubt cool against his balls even through the fabric. Geralt watches him blink a few times, rapidly, like trying to clear a haze from them, and then, as if he’s only half aware of what he’s doing, rock his hips forward to grind his cock against the surface of Geralt’s sword.

_ “Fuck,” _ Geralt snarls, yanking the sword away so that he can rush at Jaskier.

He meets him with his mouth first, biting and desperate, then grabs Jaskier’s hip with his free hands and ruts his cock against Jaskier’s, letting the bard feel how hard he’s become as well. Jaskier bucks into the contact eagerly, a whine in his throat, and Geralt swallows it greedily. Geralt feels feral in a way that doesn’t usually happen except under the influence of his potions. Not that he’s surprised; Jaskier is just as intoxicating as any alchemical brew.

Geralt drops to his knees in front of Jaskier and kisses his cock through his trousers. He can’t taste it yet, but the smell of Jaskier’s precome is strong enough even through the fabric to make his mouth water. The back of Jaskier’s head hits the tree with a thud somewhere above him. “Oh sweet merciful gods, this is the best day of my life,” he whimpers.

Carefully bringing his sword into the narrow space between them, Geralt angles it so that the tip just barely pierces the fabric on the inside of Jaskier’s knee. Slowly, meticulously, Geralt drags the tip higher, tearing the fabric open. Jaskier makes some sort of gibberish remark as the danger approaches his cock, looking down to take in the sight with those wide, glassy eyes. By the time Geralt flicks his wrist and finishes cutting open the crotch of Jaskier’s trousers, he’s just wordlessly keening.

“Femoral artery,” Geralt murmurs, leaning in to lick at the newly exposed skin of Jaskier’s thigh. There’s not a scratch on it, thanks to Geralt’s practiced, steady hand. “One of the biggest in the body. Very… vulnerable.” Jaskier’s smallclothes are too close to his skin to risk cutting them as he had the trousers, so Geralt pulls them away with his free hand before slicing them open as well. 

Jaskier’s cock bobs out and Geralt lays the flat of his blade against the tip of it, drawing a low groan from the man. He curls in like he’s trying to get closer to the sensation and would have impaled himself on the blade with his carelessness had Geralt not pulled it safely out of reach. “You never fucking learn,” Geralt huffs, but there’s more fondness to it than heat.

“Sorry,” Jaskier chokes out, but he doesn’t look it. 

“Hmm,” Geralt merely replies, before moving the tip of his sword to hover a fraction of a breath above Jaskier’s pulsing artery. “Don’t move,” he warns, all seriousness, waiting until Jaskier makes eye contact and nods his understanding. 

It’s difficult to sigh around a mouthful of cock, but Geralt does it anyways. He loves this more than he’d ever admit aloud, though Jaskier can probably tell by his enthusiasm regardless. This is where he can taste and smell Jaskier the best, that signature  _ Jaskier _ essence that has him so enamored with this silly creature. The noises only make it better; Jaskier makes some sort of sound from the moment he gets Geralt’s mouth on his cock until the moment he spills down his throat, whether it’s words of praise or breathy moans or just Geralt’s name on a loop.

“You were born to suck cock, Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier says filthily, eyes still locked on Geralt when the witcher glances up to check. Jaskier shudders, and the tip of Geralt’s sword presses into Jaskier’s thigh just a little. “Fuck, you look good. And you feel-- gods, Geralt, you could make a poet run out of words. The way you get so focused, like making me come is your fucking contract--  _ gods, _ can I touch you?”

Geralt hums his assent, which only makes the bard howl and flinch again, thigh jerking towards the sword once more. His legs tremble around Geralt as he reaches down and buries one hand into that long white hair, the other one cupping Geralt’s cheek tenderly. Fighting a smirk, Geralt turns his head slightly so that the tip of Jaskier’s cock skims the inside of his cheek, caressing Jaskier’s palm, and for a few minutes all that Jaskier can manage is a string of high pitched curses.

He can feel Jaskier getting close, the taste of his precum rich on the back of Geralt’s tongue, and Geralt increases his effort. Years of drinking potions have all but stripped him of a gag reflex, and he uses it to his advantage now, pressing forward until the tip of Jaskier’s cock is pushing down his throat in a way that might be unpleasant, if Geralt didn’t love it so goddamn much. Jaskier is a fan too, his babbling turning to begging, hand clenched tight in Geralt’s hair, eyes jammed shut and mouth open in pleasure above Geralt.

He takes the sword away from Jaskier’s inner thigh then, knowing his mate well enough to know that he won’t be able to stay still enough to be safe when Geralt makes him come undone. He lets it drop to the grass between Jaskier’s legs, which strain with the effort of remaining motionless, but even the sword’s absence isn’t enough to put a damper on Jaskier’s pleasure now. He’s too far gone, hovering right on the edge, and all it takes is one more expert flick of Geralt’s tongue to push him over.

Jaskier shouts a declaration of love when he comes, and if Geralt’s mouth wasn’t full he would return it. As it is, he kneels in the dirt and lets Jaskier fuck his face with those final few thrusts, rough and uncoordinated, while Geralt reaches down and takes his own cock in hand. He’s ready to find his release too, the length heavy and sensitive in his grip, and he strokes it gratefully. His breath comes fast and hard through his nose as the frantic rocking of Jaskier’s hips slows and then stops.

Geralt doesn’t release Jaskier’s softening cock, not yet. He’s warming it, holding it in his mouth and enjoying the weight on his tongue as he jerks himself off. One of these days he’s going to buy one of those potions that lets men come over and over again without ever getting soft and give it to Jaskier, tie him up spend the whole day on his knees like this, swallowing Jaskier’s seed down over and over again until he can’t remember the taste of anything else in the world. 

With one last worshipful suckle at Jaskier’s soft length, Geralt groans and spills, his grip rough and tight on his own cock. He’s aware of Jaskier petting his hair, telling him all of the ridiculous pretty things he always likes to say after sex, and when Geralt finally pulls back Jaskier is quick to run his thumb lovingly across Geralt’s lip with a whisper of thanks.

“Hmm,” Geralt replies, because it seems wrong to say  _ you’re welcome _ when he was so clearly the one being blessed here. Rather than puzzle through that web of emotion, he turns his attention instead to Jaskier’s leg, checking the damage. The puncture caused by Jaskier’s tremors is shallow, only a small trickle of blood running down the inside of his thigh.Geralt will put some salve on it when Roach comes back from wherever she’d bolted off to when the fighting started. All it takes is a small infection for Jaskier to be bound to his bed, and not in the way Geralt enjoys.

His eyes fall then to the silver sword, lying on the grass between them, now splattered obscenely with Geralt’s seed. He considers it for a moment as he tucks his cock back into his trousers, then grabs the hilt and stands unsteadily, offering the blade for Jaskier to see as well.

“You gonna clean this up for me, since you love my blades so much?” he murmurs, quirking an eyebrow teasingly. “Give it a kiss.”

He expects Jaskier to laugh or roll his eyes at the absurdity of the suggestion, but as usual, the wonders never cease with his bard. Jaskier shivers at the command and does just that, pursing his lips to press a tender kiss to one of the ropes of come. His lips come away wet before he closes his eyes and smooths his tongue carefully over the mess of spend decorating the metal, lapping it up like a delicacy and then sucking the remainder off of his lips to savor every last drop.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Geralt says seriously, then leans in to kiss the taste off of him.

When they part again, both relaxed and satiated, Jaskier watches with dim amusement as Geralt resheathes his silver sword. “I should get me one of those. Or two. The aesthetic of the two hilts is really something.”

“Absolutely not. I have a hard enough time keeping you alive as is,” grumbles Geralt, rolling his eyes. “If you get a sword you’ll be missing a limb within a fortnight.”

“What about a dagger?”

Geralt considers. If Jaskier is going to continue jumping into fights he has no business being a part of, he should at least be armed. “Maybe,” he assents. “We’ll talk about it in the next town.”

“And are we going to talk about the new silk trousers and doublet you owe me?” Jaskier says archly, pretending to pout. He gestures down to his shredded clothing, now looking rather ridiculous as it hangs off of him in tatters framing his soft pink cock, still wet with Geralt’s spit. “That was a brand new outfit and also my favorite, Geralt of Rivia, as you damn well know.”

“So stop trying to jump me while wearing nice clothes,” Geralt snorts.

_ “You _ jumped  _ me, _ you bastard!”

Geralt doesn’t have an answer for that --admittedly accurate-- accusation, so he turns and whistles for Roach. Best to get the bard in some clothing before Geralt’s self control slips and he commits the same offense twice.

Jaskier’s lips are soft and warm when he leans up to kiss Geralt’s cheek. “Sorry for being reckless, my noble swordsman. I’ll try very hard not to do so again, though I can’t promise anything.”

“Look at that, you  _ can _ teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Are you calling me old? Wait, are you calling me a  _ dog? _ Why I never!”

Geralt takes off running when Jaskier lunges for him, apparently intending to make Geralt atone for his heinous insults to Jaskier’s person. He doesn’t run far, though, not when being caught is so much fun. The day is warm and Jaskier is laughing. Roach can wait a while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Myself and some other cool cats and kittens have started an 18+ Geraskier writer's group on discord to do sprints, bounce ideas, beta, and encourage each other. If that sounds like something you'd be into, let me know!
> 
> stfustucky | tumblr


End file.
